


The Way to A Man's Heart is Through His Stomach

by youcallherhephanie



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: - minor, Aftermath of Violence, Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kisses, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Legit a lot of fluff, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, food and cooking, mentions of abuse, point of view change, this has been a long time coming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23646646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcallherhephanie/pseuds/youcallherhephanie
Summary: Steve and Billy weren’t ever really close. They had their shared responsibilities; school, basketball, babysitting. That was where their interactions ended. Nothing more. But when Steve begins to notice that Billy spends his days more hungry than not, he decides to take action into his own hands and invite the boy in for dinner — let him taste the goodness of the Harrington household. Afterwards, he finds he doesn’t exactly mind Billy’s presence at all.Or3 times Steve cooked for Billy, and the 1 time Billy cooked for Steve.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 42
Kudos: 201





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corvin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvin/gifts).



> This is for Corvin or @mustardprecum on Tumblr. They gave me the prompt: _Steve notices Billy is hungry and invites him to eat. Night at the Byers house never happened._
> 
> Thank you so much for being such a great friend and for always supporting me. I'm sorry this took so long, but I've finally finished and I hope you like it. All the love!!
> 
> (Special shoutout to moonlight_xx for literally putting up with so many of my rambles as I wrote this. Thank you so much, you're a god send).

“Hargrove!” Steve yelled from his door. “Hey!”

Billy snapped his gaze up to him, hand hovering over the door of the Camaro. His brow quirked in question. A breeze sifted through his curls, thunder rumbled in the distance. Steve shivered at the cold gust.

“What?”

“Wanna stay for dinner?” 

There was a pause, Billy watching him for a moment, evaluating. Steve shuffled in his spot. 

It was a cold day, overcast and gloomy, and the kids had decided it would be the perfect time for a sleepover at Steve’s place. The arcade was closed, something about an electrical outlet needing maintenance — Steve didn’t know. What he _did_ know, though, was that the kids were now all happily piled into his living room, most probably ruining the expensive carpets his mother so heavily adored. He could hear their cries and shouts of excitement for their campaign from where he stood outside. 

He knew it was going to be a long night. 

Billy lingered by his car, keys twitching in his hands. He looked hesitant at the offer, a frown in his brows. 

He’d dropped Max off, who’d hurriedly made her way in to join the others. There’d been greetings to her arrival before everyone again dissolved into their game. Billy had told Steve to _make sure she doesn’t cause any shit_ and had left for his car.

The question had sort of been out of nowhere, a slip of the tongue — an impromptu decision. In all honesty, Steve didn’t _mind_ Billy’s company. The guy was an asshole and liked to show off; Steve hadn’t been too far behind him a year ago. But after getting to know him through all the drop offs and kid meetings, Steve had found some sort of alliance in him. It was a surprise at first, because Billy Hargrove was _funny_. And witty. And one of the dirtiest guys Steve knew — the amount of crude bull crap that left the guy’s mouth baffled even Steve sometimes. 

During his months of developing what was close to a friendship with him, he’d noticed that Billy went through _a lot_ of sweets. He burned through packs of gum like it was nothing, the smack of his lips around a lollipop always present whenever he talked. Steve had first noticed it when they’d been sitting in his car, waiting for the kids to come out of the arcade, music blasting out of the speakers. Billy had reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a lollipop, offered it to Steve with a grin, before taking it for himself. He’d pulled out another when he was done; and another and one more. He’d mentioned something about _quitting smoking_ , but the growl from his stomach had cut him off from finishing. 

The idea that Billy not only used the sweets for his smoking addiction, but also to suppress his appetite had occurred to Steve in that moment, had hovered in his mind whenever he’d seen him from then on. The thought that Billy went around hungry more often than not didn’t sit too well with Steve.

And when he’d seen the lollipop between his teeth now, with Billy about to go drive off when it was cold — Steve couldn’t simply let him go off hungry. Couldn’t let him go with nothing but small sweets to satisfy him. Not when he had dinner cooking on the stove.

His nonna would be proud of him if she knew his train of thought. 

Billy made his way over to him, boots leaving indents in the gravel driveway. Steve hated the twist in his stomach at Billy’s approach, hated the feeling of something in him fluttering. This thing Steve had with Billy wasn’t as developed as he liked to think. They didn’t talk much, didn’t interact unless necessary. Their interactions were confined to school, basketball and their cars.

But somewhere along the line, Steve had begun to _want_ to see the guy. Anticipated when he would arrive to drop off Max; anticipated the first hit at basketball, whether he would lean against Steve’s locker to jab at him. He couldn’t help but find himself leaning more and more into the guys presence everyday. 

And the funny feeling in him didn’t cease when Billy stood in front of him now.

“Dinner, huh?”

Steve shrugged, the perfect look of composed and calm. “Yeah. I mean, it’s late and I have enough.”

Billy looked at him for a moment, smiled wide. “I wouldn’t be intruding, would I? Don’t think the kids would be too happy with me crashing their sleepover.”

Steve raised a brow. “Don’t you get off on making their life hell?”

“Yeah, well,” Billy shrugged, held his lollipop between his fingers for a second. He met Steve’s gaze. “Let’s just say I’m surprised you’re letting me stay and ruin the fun, is all.”

Steve made his way inside, a flutter in his stomach and his heart in his throat. “You’ll get used to it.”

*

“ _King_ Steve, huh?” Billy whistled, looking around at the high walls and columns of the house. There were modern pieces of art scattered on the white walls. Furniture ranging from hundreds to thousands of dollars lay around in neat layouts. “Tommy said your parents were big money, Harrington. Thought he’d been talking shit.”

Steve glanced over at him from where he was leaning against an archway leading into a room. A tea towel was slung over his shoulder. Billy couldn’t remember it being there when they’d been outside, with Steve calling for him.

“Tommy’s a dick. He doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. You shouldn’t believe half the shit he says.” He left him to go to what Billy assumed was the kitchen.

He looked around once more. 

The Harrington house was infuriatingly lavish. Silent and tall and bare of any features that could’ve made it look lived in. It was all golden accent pieces and modern designs. Billy felt out of place with his ripped jeans and messy hair. He was pretty sure that amongst the money in this place, he was like the dirt that stuck to his shoes.

Following after Harrington, he found himself in disbelief at the sight of the boy cooking over the stove. There was a heavy smell of garlic and tomato in the air, and Harrington stirred away at something in a pot.

“When you said you wanted me to stay for dinner, pretty boy, I thought you were just tryna to be romantic.” Billy sidled up next to him on the counter, head cocked, grin wide. “Didn’t think I’d be getting the full treatment.”

Steve looked over at him with an inscrutable expression, nose scrunching up slightly. The thought _cute_ pushed at Billy’s mind.

“If there’s one thing I know, _Hargrove_ , it’s how to make good food.” He glanced over at the pasta cooking. “Besides, the kids say it’s their favourite. Can’t have them eating a bunch of junk when they can eat real food.” 

Steve threw an insinuating look at him.

Billy smiled. “Didn’t know you were all for the domestic shit, Harrington. You write the recipe too, or what?”

“Tagliatelle alla Bolognese.” The words rolled off his tongue, and Billy had to suck in a breath to calm the flutter in his chest. “Not mine, unfortunately. My nonna used to make it for me whenever I went to see her. Was my favourite thing she made.”

Billy made a noise of agreement. “Sembra bellissimo.” His eyes didn’t stray from Steve and he grinned at the startled look on his face. Winked at him. “That’s how the Italians say it, right?”

Steve switched the stove off, pushed a hand through his hair. “I mean, you didn’t butcher it as much as you could’ve, so there’s that.” He stirred the sauce absentmindedly, a small smile on his lips. “But the delivery needs some work done.”

Billy let himself fall into a lull with Harrington. Bit back a retort and watched as Steve tried to flick him with the tea towel. He followed Steve’s orders to assemble the plates, went back and forth between the living room and kitchen, delivering dishes and drinks alike. He caught Steve’s eye every so often he ducked into the kitchen, going on about rich people and their need for _far too many cabinets_ , feeling something in him flutter at the guy’s smile.

He looked at peace — the kids in his house playing around, with _Billy_ in his house helping him. The guy was humming to himself and grating cheese into a bowl, stance relaxed.

Billy nudged past him, salad bowl in hand. Liked to think the pink that tinged Steve’s cheeks when their eyes meet was because of him. Like he might’ve been the cause of it.

“You gonna hurry up or what, Harrington? Food’s gonna get cold if you keep making sure your hands are nice and clean all the time.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “So _dramatic_.” He picked up the pot of pasta. “Pretty sure you’re worse than Dustin.”

Billy watched him go, horrified. “You take that back.”

Steve laughed as he exited, and Billy couldn’t help but smile as he followed after him.

*

If Steve had to look back and reflect on the night, he’d have to say that sitting by Billy on the couch, throwing remarks back and forth with him and watching on as the kids shouted amongst each other was actually _nice_. 

Billy had talked every so often, commented on the food - something Steve couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride towards. They’d talked about school, about the kids, about music - Billy making it a point to insult all of Steve’s favourite songs. Said he had _no taste_ whatsoever. Steve had shoved him, smiled when Billy threw his head back in a laugh. It was a sweet sound and Steve couldn’t help but feel warm hearing it.

The kids had stayed for the night, cuddled each other underneath layers upon layers of blankets. Steve had offered a guest room to Billy only for him to turn it down.

“You guys can enjoy your nerd sleepover. I’m out.” He’d given Steve a sharp grin, teeth bared and eyes bright as he’d walked back to his car. 

In all honesty, Steve hadn’t wanted him to go. He’d been surprised by the disappointment that’d welled up in his chest. Because even though Billy was supposed to be his mortal enemy, quoted by Dustin, not him, Steve _liked_ Billy. Enjoyed his company. Wanted the boy to stay and continue to talk to him and shuffle closer together on the couch until their knees touched. 

But he watched Billy go, waved at the car as it sped out his driveway, closed the door to turn and find the kids enthusiastically waiting on him. They watched movies until the early morning, laid out across the couches. Steve had fallen asleep on the sofa; enjoying the company and the thought that, for once, he wasn’t falling asleep in an empty house by himself.

*

He didn’t know what time it was when something thumped him in the head. Hard.

Groaning, he reached out with his hands, blinking blearily as sunlight poured through the windows. Steve flinched as the same thing - a pillow he realised - hit him again. 

“ _Steve_. Wake _up_.” Dustins voice was whiny, and Steve poked an eye open, saw all the kids had gathered around him. “We’re hungry.”

Steve grumbled to himself, rubbed his hands over his face. _Fuck_. “Don’t you shitheads know how to make breakfast?”

Mike piped up, face scrunched into a scowl. “Just cause we know _how_ to doesn’t mean we’re _gonna_. And you promised pancakes.”

And yeah, he _had_. But he hadn’t thought they’d be waking him up at the crack of dawn. Much less with the hard pillows his mum always insisted on buying. 

Steve groaned again. “Can’t you wait another five minutes?” He tried to snuggle back into the couch, only getting a moment of peace before he was hit again. “ _Ouch_! What?”

“We want some now.” Dustin whined, raising the pillow up to hit him again. Steve knocked it out of his hands. 

Will from behind the group uttered a soft, “ _please_?” And finally, Steve dragged himself off the sofa, pouting at the loss of warmth. 

“You guys are so goddamn _needy_. Jesus.”

There was a chorus of “ _thanks Steve_ ,” from all of them. He waved their thanks off, entered the kitchen and yawned wide, stretching.

The sun was peeking into the room and Steve could make out the trees of the woods behind the kitchen curtains. The morning light softened their look. Made them less intimidating as what they looked in his dreams.

He shuffled around, making himself busy with putting together the batter. 

He could hear the kids starting up their game again, voices louder by the minute. Someone had turned the radio on, some song that’d been on loop for forever on. He hummed along to the melody, swayed a bit as the pan heated up. 

The doorbell rang distantly.

Steve groaned, dolloping a spoonful of batter onto the pan. He called over his shoulder, “Dustin, get the door!”. He heard him shuffle and open it, watching as bubbles rose on the cooking batter. There was a new voice in the house. Steve shifted a hand through his hair — the strands upright and everywhere. He sighed and flipped the pancake.

“Well, well, well, if I didn’t know any better, Harrington, I’d say you _liked_ cooking for a bunch a’ nerds.”

Steve glanced at Billy over his shoulder, rolled his eyes. The boy leaned against the archway leading into the kitchen, arms crossed, an amused grin spread wide, face more awake than ever.

“Shut up.”

Billy made his way over, leaned against the counter and watched Steve slice into the fruit. “What’s on the menu this morning, pretty boy? We getting the Harrington special?”

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, _pancakes_.” He didn’t look up when Billy stole a strawberry, munching on it happily as he leaned against the counter. “You staying for breakfast?”

Billy faced away from him, hand playing with another strawberry he’d stolen. “Not this time. Gotta take Max home, old man’s orders.”

“Oh.” Steve nodded. Flipped a pancake. “So, you’re going now then?”

“Yeah,” Billy looked reluctant to move away. “Don’t get too upset, Harrington. M’sure you’ll see me around.”

They stayed quiet, the hiss of the pan filling the kitchen. Steve didn’t want to think about why he felt hurt by it, by Billy leaving and not being able to be with _him_ for the morning. He knew _why_ , but it didn’t mean he had to acknowledge it.

“Yeah. Guess I will.” Turning the stove on low, he turned to face Billy, smile small. “I’ll get Max.”

Billy nodded, snuck a lollipop out of his jean jacket, unwrapped it and stuck it in his mouth. “I’ll be outside.”

Steve watched him leave, went and called for Max. He walked into the living room to find all the kids huddled around the TV, attention rapt by the horror movie playing, game forgotten. Steve almost felt bad to interrupt them, but he nudged Max’s shoulder nonetheless, motioning his head towards the front door.

She picked herself up, gave El a hug and made her way out. The others called out their goodbyes. Steve walked her to the door, leaning against the frame as she put her shoes on.

“Thanks, Steve.” She gave him a quick hug and hurried out the house, bag trailing after her.

Steve could make out the figure of Billy tucked into the Camaro. He watched as they pulled out of the driveway. Max opened the window to wave at him, Billy rolling his eyes behind her. Steve smiled and waved back.

When they were gone, he closed the door and made his way back into the kitchen. Sighed at how empty the space seemed now with just him in it. As though that bit of energy that came with Billy had burnt out as soon as he’d left.

He finished the pancakes up, let the kids eat, and cleaned — all the while wondering when he’d see the blond next.


	2. Chapter 2

It was a few weeks before Steve saw Billy again.

Winter had officially rolled in, snow coating everything and anything. Steve was ready to spend the whole holiday season in bed, heat turned up high, unawares of the world outside. _Unfortunately_ , lazy afternoons were too big a luxury for Steve when he had the company of the kids.

It seemed as though party hangouts became more and more frequent with the Winter. More than once a week, Steve would be herding the kids into the Beemer with the destination of the arcade or someone’s house in mind.

They were good kids, fun and loud, but he was getting tired of having to constantly break off the icicles that formed on his car just so he could see which house he’d be pulling up to. It was tiring and cold, but with Mrs Henderson or Byers always making sure to cast aside a cup of hot cocoa for him, it made the whole ordeal gratifying in the end.

It was a Friday night when he had to drive the little shits again.

Mrs Byers was hosting the kids at her place this time, had gone and cleared away space for them to continue their campaign. Steve had had to hear about it the whole week he’d driven Dustin to school. It was a big deal apparently.

So here he was, dropping off him and Lucas to the house. He walked them up to the door. Mrs Byers greeted them, offered him to stay. He shook his head, said he had ‘plans’ despite the fact that he really _didn’t_.

She gave him a soft smile and a pat on the shoulder, thanked him for dropping the kids off and watched him as he walked back to his car.

He stopped short of opening his car door when the thunder of a familiar Camaro carried down the street. It was only a moment before the headlights of the blue car came into view.

He watched as Billy pulled into the Byers’ driveway, Max in the passenger seat beside him. They both came out of the car, Max uttering a quick ‘hi Steve’ to him as she ran into the house. The door closed behind her.

Billy came to stand next to him — lighting up a cigarette as he leaned against Steve’s car with him. He looked soft in the moonlight, hair falling in ringlets, eyes trained on nothing in the distance; _blue_ , bright with something. He looked like a dream; something there, too far to reach. It made Steve’s stomach twist.

“You ever get tired of shipping them around, Harrington?” The words were slow — curious. Billy was motioning his head towards the house, hair falling with the movement. Steve shrugged.

“You get used to it.” He didn’t look at Billy — instead, tried to swat his hair out of his face. “I don’t have much to do nowadays anyway — this is good. Makes me feel… I don’t know, like I can _do_ something with my free time.”

Billy nodded next to him, blew out a plume of smoke. Steve watched the grey colour carry into the sky. Arched a brow at him.

“Weren’t you supposed to be stopping?” He didn’t look away when Billy turned to him. When he _winked_ at him.

“It’s my first one in two months.” He chucked the half-used bud down and crushed it out. Blew a blond curl out of his face. “Figured I could cheat one off.”

Steve almost smiled — liked the amused glint Billy’d gotten in his eyes when he looked at him. How he looked at ease, shoulders relaxed — not bunched up in the jean jacket as they usually were. Steve found he liked it, liked having Billy relaxed with him — carefree. He nudged his shoulder with his own.

“Right,” he smiled. “Too bad I just happened to call you out on it then, huh?”

Billy watched him, eyes trained on his face. A grin was curling around his lips. “It’s a damn _shame_ , Harrington. Could’ve lived to have another. Guess I’ve gotta stop now that you’re here.” Something curled in Steve’s chest. Something warm, sweet.

“It’s good you’re stopping. Or trying to anyway.” His nodded his head towards the squashed cigarette on the concrete driveway. 

Billy grunted, leaned back against the car. He looked up at the stars, nonchalant. “They’re a bitch to pay for. And — Max said I should try to cut down. Little shit thinks that just cause she _says_ they’re bad, they are.”

Steve admired him from the side; the line of his jaw, the almost hidden dusting of freckles on his cheeks, the curl of his lashes. A sea of blue turned to look at him after his pause of silence. The wind slivered around them in a gust. “You’re still stopping, though.”

“Yeah, well I-” a growl cut off whatever he was about to say. Steve blinked, confused — outright laughed when Billy curled a hand over his stomach, cheeks reddening in the shadowed light of the rising moon. He didn’t meet Steve’s eyes — cleared his throat and swallowed.

Steve smiled brightly.

“Was that your—?”

“Shut up,” Billy huffed, turned away. His cheeks were a bright, deep red; the colour climbing up to his ears.

It was cute. Made Steve want to reach out and pinch his cheeks. Instead, he offered a grin. Let an idea roll over in his head, processed it as he spoke.

“You know,” he laughed when Billy glared at him — as though daring him to utter anything remotely against the sound they’d just heard. “If you want, we could head back to my place. I got beer and— I didn’t really have much planned for tonight. It’d be nice having someone to hang out with.”

Billy looked at him, eyes sharp. He shifted against the car. “You sure, Harrington? Wouldn’t wanna be a pain.”

Steve shook his head, nudged Billy’s side again.

“It’s fine — I offered.” He moved off the car, made his way to the drivers seat. “Gotta make dinner anyway. You’re hungry, right?” He winked, smile wide.

Billy stared at him from where he stood outside the car. Watched Steve with something like curiosity in his eyes.

“If you insist, pretty boy.” He patted the roof of the Beemer, moved to get into his Camaro, jean jacket nearly flying in the wind. Steve watched him unlock the car and nod towards the road. “Lead the way.”

*

It was evening. The moon was shining above the Harrington residence, a bright presence in the solid figure of the night.

Billy sat on a kitchen counter, nursing a beer in his hand, gaze aligned with where Steve stood stirring away at the stove. It wasn’t a _big deal_ , him being here. Harrington had invited him ‘cause he was bored and alone, and Billy had been _there_. It was fine — no _deep meaning_ behind it, nothing to think too much about.

And yet, Billy still couldn’t help the pull of his thoughts, wondering _why_ Steve had done it — invited him when they just barely hung out. Hell, when the nerds had had their sleepover and Steve had made the pasta, that had been the peak of their interactions. They didn’t speak outside of their drop off duties. And yet here Billy was.

There was a shameful tug to his stomach anytime he thought back to the way his gut had growled outside the Byers’ house. Loud and clear, a clear message that, _hey, Billy was starving_. He hadn’t eaten probably all day. Dad kicking him out, telling him to get his ‘faggot ass’ out — not without reminding him to drop Max off later on. As if he could ever forget anything his dear sister needed. He’d spent the day driving around in the cold, windows down, Metallica blasting through speakers. Wishing the snow would freeze over the anger that bubbled so close to the edge.

The cold had eased it slightly, but he still felt it brewing — always there, close yet not. He’d grown accustomed to its presence now, didn’t question the clench of his jaw or the curl in his stomach. Knew how to not let it show. Tried to let his mind focus on something good in life, if there were such a thing. Stuff like being _here_ , with Harrington, in his stupid, big house with too many rooms for one person.

When Steve had started pulling out the ingredients for the soup - _simple_ , he’d said it’d be - Billy had known he was in for the night. There was something about the way Harrington hovered over people, made sure they were okay, well-fed, _warm_. Billy didn’t think he’d ever met someone with that type of care for others — that attention to detail. Found he didn’t mind it, being taken care of in the space of the Harrington kitchen; too fancy and clean for its own good, yet warm with the heat coming from the stove and Steve’s presence.

Billy sat back and took another sip from his beer. Harrington had left his sitting on the space next to him, barely even a sip taken out of it. He shuffled around the kitchen, going between cutting up vegetables and stirring at the pot. Billy was almost transfixed with it. 

There was a fluidity in the way Harrington worked, the way he moved around the space. He knew the kitchen like it was the back of his hand, could stir with one hand and look for something under the counter with the other, didn’t have to look to know his way around.

Watching him cook was calming. He didn’t rush, was assured; certainly didn’t stop Billy when he came over and sipped at what was brewing in the pot.

“You like it?” He asked, shy smile on his face. There were sweaty hairs sticking to his forehead, a result of the steam from the stove. Billy thought it made him look more handsome somehow.

“I don’t know, pretty boy.” He took another sip out of the spoon. “Could use a little more salt.”

Steve’s face went through a variety of emotions; from shock, offence, to confusion. “I _swear_ I-” He nudged Billy away with his hip, stole the spoon from his hands — took a sip himself. He sagged as he registered the taste — sighed and threw Billy a glare. “You _bitch_.”

Billy laughed, didn’t miss the way Steve rolled his eyes and smiled after a moment too. He shoved him away, light and playful, and Billy let himself take a step back, enjoyed the lingering touch of Steve’s hand on his chest — where his pendant hung over his shirt.

“Come on, I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Gotta lighten up, Harrington.” He walked back over to where Steve stood, peered over his shoulder to find him cutting potatoes up. Grinned when he used a spoon to smack Billy’s arm lightly.

He pointed the spoon at him. “Never question an Italian’s seasoning.”

Billy’s smile widened. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

Steve looked at him for a moment, shrugged and went back to chopping the vegetables and chucking them into the pot. “I don’t actually know. My nonna always told me it was rude, so, I wouldn’t argue with that.”

Billy lifted his hands up in defence, made his way back to his drink. “Can’t go against the words of granny, can you?”

Steve huffed, threw a smile over his shoulder at him. “No, you can’t.”

*

They didn’t eat at the dining table when the soup was done.

When Billy had suggested it, teased Steve with a grin, Steve had looked uneasy, a frown denting his brow as he tried to sputter out a response. Billy had taken the suggestion back, hopped onto a counter and grabbed his bowl from Steve’s hands. He’d nodded towards the space next to him, where Steve’s still-full beer sat. Invitation blatant and open.

And that was how they ate; Billy propped up on a counter, Steve next to him, closer than Billy had expected, only a bracket of space between them. Billy could feel the heat coming from him, where he was bundled in a cream wool sweater, looking soft and gorgeous with his hair falling into his eyes. He was moving a chunk of carrot back and forth in the bowl, head drooped forward. He was quiet — had been since Billy had offered them to sit at the table.

Billy spooned a bite into his mouth.

“So how’d your learn to cook all this fancy shit?”

Steve glanced up at the question, eyes wide in surprise, spoon halfway to his mouth. Billy blinked back at him — didn’t understand why exactly there was a flutter in his stomach, why his cheeks were warming as Steve continued to stare in confusion. He plunked his spoon into his bowl.

“What do you mean?”

Billy shrugged, gestured to the kitchen. “You know how to make all these recipes just like that.” He clicked his fingers to punctuate his point. “I just didn’t take you for the type of guy to do that.”

Steve leaned back, smiled somewhat teasingly, achingly sweet. “And what kinda guy did I come across as?”

Billy made himself look casual, didn’t meet Steve’s eyes when he said, “You know, rich jock guy. All the girls wanna bang you, you got a maid at home who does everything. That rich-kid-douche type.”

Steve looked torn between being amused and offended. “Hey, I’m _far_ from a douche, alright? I had my bad moments, but I kinda got slapped with reality really quickly.”

Billy arched a brow at him. “So you’ve become ‘Mr Man’ now, then?”

Steve elbowed him, smiled with a dimple Billy had never thought would exist. “I’m just… less of a jerk? The kids said I used to be an asshole — don’t know how they came to that conclusion but,” He shrugged. “Anyway, I learned when I was a kid. Kinda just grew on how to make a PB-and-J sandwich over the years and now I can cook whatever.”

Billy smiled something sharp. “Tell me why a kid like you, Harrington, would need to learn how to make your own sandwiches. Mummy and daddy too busy at dinner parties to help out?”

Steve winced, glanced down at his bowl. Looked like he suddenly wanted to be anywhere _but_ here — having this conversation. It took Billy a second to realise that he’d hit the nail on the head. Was right despite the fact that he’d just wanted to make an asshole shot.

It was quiet for a moment between them.

“I mean — you’re not _wrong_. My dad’s always been busy with work — always talks about how its _the business and nothing else_.” Billy could feel something nestle itself into his stomach, unease and regret. Considered that maybe he shouldn’t have made such an asshole shot this time. “Mum doesn’t trust him — don’t think she ever has,” He added it like an after thought. “So she follows him wherever he goes. And I somehow always end up at home. Alone.”

He sighed loudly. Billy watched as his chest moved with it, watched the shake of it. Felt his thoughts moving 100 miles per hour. He nudged Steve’s shoulder with his own, gentle, soft. Felt like he was holding his breath — didn’t know how to get the words he wanted to say _out_.

“Parents are shitty.” He shrugged, didn’t meet Steve’s gaze when he turned towards him. There was a question in his dark eyes, bright in the warm light of the kitchen. He took his own deep breath. “I mean, my dad’s a piece of shit. Doesn’t really give a crap about what I do. Long as I cart Max around and act like the ‘ _perfect bother_ ’, I might as well be invisible.”

Steve stared at him, a deep understanding burning in his gaze. Billy couldn’t look at him. Didn’t know why or _how_ his words just tumbled out whenever he was around Harrington.

There was a fluttering in his chest when Steve moved closer to him, shoulders now pressed against his. The room felt too warm, every smell overpowered by the cologne Steve was wearing. It clung to him, and Billy had a hard time not moving closer, burying his face in his sweater and staying there. He felt his ears heat up, and he spooned another bite. Cleared his throat.

“You’ll be okay anyway, Harrington. Seem to be doing alright so far,” he motioned his head around the room, focused back on him and smiled a little grin. He hoped he wasn’t dreaming the focus of Steve’s eyes were on his lips.

“Steve,” He said, met Billy’s gaze. Smiled his own smile, lips curling wide.

Billy felt the flush of heat spread to his cheeks. Blinked as his words registered. “I… _what_?”

Steve laughed — glowed with it, cheeks pink and eyes full of stars. Billy found himself smiling fondly at him, preferred the look of mirth Steve had now over the way he’d withdrawn from the conversation so quickly earlier.

“Just call me Steve. You don’t gotta do all this ‘ _Harrington_ ’ and ‘ _pretty boy_ ’ or whatever,” Billy quirked a brow at the voice Steve had adopted when trying to imitate Billy.

“I don’t sound like that.”

Steve huffed. “Mm, yeah you do.”

Billy began shaking his head, moved so he sat further up the counter, leg close to resting atop Steve’s. “Sorry, pretty boy, but that is _far_ from my smooth, manly voice. I’ll give you points for trying, though.”

Steve shoved at him, laughing again. “ _As if_. If anything your voice is more, like this. _Hi, I’m Billy and I don’t know how to button a shirt up properly_.” Billy narrowed his eyes at the high-pitched voice and debated shoving him off the counter in retaliation.

Instead, he huffed and leaned back against the wall instead, tucked his empty bowl away next to him. “You sure know how to rip away at a guys ego, Harrington.”

“ _Steve_.” Said boy reminded, smiling. He poked at Billy and laughed again when he swatted at his hand.

“Right. _Steve_.” Billy met his gaze, hoped his eyes didn’t reveal too much of the hope and fondness he felt in that moment. Couldn’t help but shuffle closer when he said, “Gonna have to keep on reminding me, pretty boy. It’s gonna take awhile to settle in.”

Steve, for all he was, didn’t look like that bothered him in the least. Offered Billy another beer and leaned against him, talked about school, the kids, about how annoying snow was to scoop off his car. Billy listened attentively, made quips and comments, nudged Steve when he began to nod off.

They hung out like that for the rest of the night — the warmth of the kitchen enveloping them, blood abuzz with alcohol and the knowledge that something had grown between them during their time together. It wasn’t until Steve started nodding off again against Billy’s shoulder that he decided to call it a night.

Ever so gently, Billy pulled him into his arms. Used one hand to hold his back and the other, his shoulders. Steve’s head lolled back as he was lifted, face smooth and serene, sweet in sleep. Billy stopped himself from staring too long at the dots that littered his pale skin, each a step deeper and deeper into that warm feeling that flickered every time he was around Harrington.

He left their empty beer bottles and bowls on the counter and carried him out the kitchen. Felt like his heart was skyrocketing with how close he held Steve, how - subconsciously, he thought - Steve’s arms wound around him, face in the crook of Billy’s neck. It took more strength than Billy expected to carry Steve up the stairs of the Harrington house and to his room.

After opening enough doors, he found Harrington’s bedroom and ever so gently, set him down on his bed. Tucked him in and pulled the covers up. He took a moment to smooth out the hair that had become a mess during their journey. Felt soft, brown strands sift through his fingers. He lingered, let himself take in the sight of a Steve that didn’t have worry creasing his face — of trying to guard himself in a way Billy was all too familiar with.

He brushed a strand out of Steve’s face and moved away, looked over the interior of the room with a grin. Plaid upon plaid layered the walls, trophies and posters cluttered around a desk near a window. Art pencils and sketchbooks littered the desk, eraser shavings on the floor, as though hastily cleaned away. He took one last glance at Steve and huffed.

“You sure are something, Stevie.”

*

When Steve had woken up the next day, he was surprised to find Billy passed out on his couch, a random blanket thrown over him, one arm hanging off the couch and the other draped over his face. He had to have taken off his jacket the night before, he was in just his jeans and a tank top as he slept, hair tied into a low ponytail. Maybe it was because he was asleep, but Steve had never seen Billy look so young, features smoothed out — like he looked his age. It made his heartbeat pick up, and he’d quickly scuffled to the kitchen, prepared some coffee for himself, with the hope he could calm himself down and not make a fool of himself.

He’d been startled by the sight of Billy so early in the morning — in his house, comfortable, _asleep_. His mind hadn’t been slow to supply him with the memory of being carried by strong, secure arms, back up to his room. He remembered being tucked into his bed, feeling a gentle hand caress his hair until he’d fallen asleep.

His face was heating up. He clutched his cup of coffee, leaned back against the kitchen counter and focused on a point in the distance, somewhere out the window and into the woods. He needed to admit it to himself.

Steve had a crush on Billy Hargrove, and it was _bad_.

He couldn’t ignore the thrum under his skin whenever he saw the boy, couldn’t ignore the way he’d become accustomed to seeing him around now, around every turn and corner. Couldn’t ignore the way his heart ached whenever he watched him go or the stir of heat in his stomach whenever he lingered, too close, almost touching.

He sipped at his coffee, let himself accept it — that, yes, he liked Billy Hargrove, the asshole with biting words and hope filled eyes.

He jumped when he heard a knock. Glanced back to find the boy in question leaning against the archway to the kitchen, knuckle raised from where he’d knocked on the column. He looked sleepy — hair still mussed up, eyelids drooped, clothes crumpled. Looked like all the things Steve ever wanted in his life.

“Anyone ever tell you you slurp loud?” He made his way over, a sleepy smirk spread across his lips. He got himself a clean mug from the cabinets, filled it with the coffee Steve’d prepared. Steve snorted.

“No, they haven’t, because I _don’t_.” He nudged Billy over with his hip, felt something sweet roll over him, slow and carefree and calm.

“Hmm,” Billy hummed into his drink and made his way out of the kitchen. Steve followed after, rolled his eyes and felt something fond grow in his chest. “Think you’re lying to yourself there, pretty boy.”

“It’s _Steve_ , and no, I’m not.” He plunked himself down on the couch next to Billy, lifted his legs and rested them atop his. Watched as Billy’s eyes lingered on them for a second, before shrugging back at him.

“We all know the truth here. You can admit it to yourself, Stevie, this is a safe space.”

Steve shoved at him, smile growing. “You’re full of it, I swear.”

Billy winked, snuggled into the blanket he’d wrapped around them. Took a sip from his coffee. “You love it,”

Steve felt himself heat up again. Opted for rolling his eyes and leaning back — didn’t know what to say, not when his heart was lodged in his throat. “Sure, whatever.”

Billy poked at his leg with his foot. Smiled at him, at ease and comfortable. Steve didn’t question when he edged closer, when he rested his head back against the couch — so close to Steve’s shoulder he was basically resting his head against it. Steve couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face, or the bubble of happiness in his chest. He squeezed the ankle of Billy’s leg, that now rested atop his thigh. He heard Billy huff, a short sound of amusement, short and sweet.

They laid there for most of the day, watching TV and inching closer and closer towards each other — until Billy headed home. Steve had been disappointed, watching him go. Hadn’t wanted the day to end, to see the tuft of blond hair walk away from him. But it was inevitable that Billy would have to go. So Steve watched him go, waved as the blue car sped out of his driveway, a wisp of memories and moments left in its wake. Sighed to himself and closed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

When Steve opened the door to Billy Hargrove, days later from that time together, he wasn’t expecting it.

It was nine at night. He’d had dinner; had cleaned the house and stretched out on the sofa afterwards; imagined nothing and everything — beginning from the sparkle that always managed to linger in a certain blond’s eyes to the warm touches Steve couldn’t help but gravitate towards. It was during his moment of pining alone that the doorbell had rung, followed by a hurried knock, loud and insistent.

Steve had fallen out of his seat to get to the door, had felt a burst of excitement and hope rush through his body. Like maybe his thoughts had been sensed.

He’d paused before the door, had brushed down his sweater and tussled with his hair. Letting out a breath, he grinned and opened the door wide to find _Billy_ standing there, bent over himself, hair messy and dirty and strung together with snowflakes, arm clutched at his stomach. There were cuts on his face — a bruised eye and swollen lips. From where he clutched his stomach, Steve assumed the bruises didn’t end just there.

His smile dropped. He blinked at the sight.

“I… Billy?”

Billy looked up at the sound of his name, smiled tightly, the sight almost a grimace.

“Pretty boy.” He said, nodded, tried to gather that bravado that he so often wore. Steve rolled his eyes, stepped closer, drew him into his arms.

“You’re shivering, how did you…?” There was no sign of the Camaro in the driveway, no familiar highlight of blue, no burnt smell of rubber. Snow fell around the house, matted the ground with pure white. Steve spotted the already fading footsteps. “Did you _walk_ here?”

He felt a huff against his neck, glanced down to find Billy smiling wryly up at him. Looked like snowflakes were dancing across his eyes, the regular shine of his skin paled.

“How else could I have come here? Old man took away the keys.” There was something bubbling along the surface of the words, something hidden and angry and pained. “This was the first place I could think of. Didn’t think… thought you wouldn’t mind seeing my sexy ass so soon.”

He sounded so assured, so _sure_ of himself, that Steve would be there for him. There was red dusting his cheeks — his nose, ears. After the honest confession, Steve was beginning to match him.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair and held firmly onto Billy’s arm with the other. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He closed the door behind them. “I still can’t believe you walked here. You could’ve called me or something. It’s freezing outside, Billy — you don’t even have any _Winter_ clothes.”

Billy grunted, nearly slipped from Steve’s grasp. He leant against the wall, a sheen of sweat along his forehead. His breaths came out in huffs, and Steve halted, reached out. 

“Sorry to worry you, Harrington.”

So he was apologising now. Eyebrows scrunched, Steve brought his other hand up and held him, gentle, supported him against the wall. “How bad is it?”

Billy lifted his shoulder in an almost-shrug. “‘S’not too bad. Pretty sure my nose isn’t broken, and my ribs are… okay,” he paused, unsure. “It’s just bruises this time.”

A match had lighten itself in Steve’s heart. It felt too warm all of a sudden, like the room was too small and the heat was circling around them — trapping them both. His stomach twisted, nauseous and violent. A creeping suspicion was clouding Steve’s mind; one that predicted, for whatever reason, Billy was _used_ to this. The fact that his face - and body too - were beaten was a regular occurrence.

Steve moved his hand down until it was laced through Billy’s. He tugged him along, didn’t meet his gaze when he looked up in surprise. Didn’t want the blond to see the heavy blush that was settling over his face.

He was too warm.

He left Billy by the living room couch, where the fire was lit and the room was cozy, in search of his first aid kit, up the stairs and in his room. The rest of the house was cold — lacking the presence of Billy’s never-ending heat supply. The slap of cold air helped Steve pull himself back into reality — away from the tight grip Billy’d had on his hand and the way he looked at Steve with assurance and confidence. He got the kit and made his way back, willed himself to set his priorities upon the injuries at hand.

Billy lay slumped against the couch, head bent over, shoulders curled inward. He was shivering. It felt unnatural, seeing Billy cold of all things. The sight stirred a pained feeling in Steve, and he quickly plopped himself down beside him, tried to ignore the feeling and all it carried.

“Here,” he wrapped a blanket around him, tugged it close around his body. When Billy was securely wrapped, he held a wet cloth up and used a hand to lift Billy’s chin.

Billy stared at him, eyes focused, carrying a tide of emotions. He didn’t move or look away.

“Thanks,” he said. “You could’ve just left it though — it’s fine. The blanket’s enough.”

Steve huffed at that, because it most certainly was not _fine_. Nevertheless, he began to wipe at the cuts, so gentle he knew Billy could see the way his hands shook. He dabbed at the wounds, took his time. He held his breath at the proximity between the two of them.

After he’d cleaned up his face, he stitched up the cuts and placed bandaids along the ones that needed them. He took a moment to focus back on his own breathing and packed away the supplies when he was done.

“Steve, I…” Billy lifted an arm, looked ready to reach out and touch him. Hold him. “Thanks. For this. I mean it, I don’t have heaps of people I can trust so, this means a lot.”

Steve smiled. “You know you’re always welcome here, right?” At the surprised look on Billy’s face, he pat his arm. “I’ll be right back.” There was a shot of warmth throughout his body when Billy looked almost against the idea of him leaving his side. Steve peeled away from him, made his way into the kitchen and got a bowl, scooped out the stew he’d had leftover. Though it wasn’t as warm as it had been hours earlier, it would be enough to help Billy. He heated it up, and as he left the kitchen - lit up by only a candle in the corner - he grabbed a pack of frozen peas, clutching it to his chest as he walked back.

He held out the bowl to Billy.

“You should eat. Beef stew’s good for healing, and I had some leftover, so —” At the tentative expression, he said, “It’ll help, trust me.” He handed Billy the plate. Didn’t say anything when he looked between him and the meal. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded slowly.

“Thanks.”

Steve watched Billy as he ate, slow movements, the spoon going back and forth from his mouth. He looked small — vulnerable, weak. There was a blank look in his eyes, glassy and withdrawn. Steve sat beside him and handed him the bag of peas, watched as he silently took them and placed them under his shirt, leaning back against the couch.

“Tell me what happened.” Steve’s expression was open, eyes raw with concern and lips between his teeth — nervous and scared. Billy looked hesitant, wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Please?”

With a reluctant sigh, Billy told him everything.

*

“You’re…”

“A queer, yeah. You can say it, Harrington.” Billy’s voice was edging along irritation now, though there was a twitch of fear in his face, shining in his eyes and the way he tried to shy away from Steve’s touch. He was picking himself up from whatever quiet place he’d gone into when he’d arrived at the house. He’d told Steve what it was like, living with his dad, having him know the truth about him. Being punished for it everyday.

“I didn’t mean… I... I’m sorry your dad’s an asshole, Billy. You don’t deserve what he’s done to you.” His voice was soft, a whisper in the distance between the two of them. Billy met his eyes, looked small and vulnerable, gaze open and revealing. The stuff he’d told Steve, about his life — the pain and anger, what his dad was like... Steve swallowed. Lifted his hand up, so slow, to gently cradle the side of his face. Billy leaned into the touch almost subconsciously. “And, you know, it’s not bad. Liking guys.”

That got a huff out of Billy. He moved away from Steve’s touch, the absence of heat instantly noticeable. “That so?” His voice had lost the bravado he so often held, was quiet now, hung in the air when he spoke. “You don’t think it’s ‘wrong’?” He made quotation marks with his hands, lips curling. 

Steve shifted.

“I… _no_. There’s nothing wrong with it.” Billy blinked at him. “I mean, if there was, pretty sure I’d be a bit of a hypocrite.” He didn’t look at him when he said. Let his fingers tighten around one another, felt like _this was it_.

Everything seemed to halt at his words. The air stilled between them. Billy looked struck between wonder and confusion.

It was after a beat he said, “You’re…”

Steve met his gaze now, smiled something small, scared yet brave, felt his confidence grow and blossom something warm in his chest. “Queer? Kinda, I guess. Pretty sure I’m bisexual? I like girls _and_ guys, so…”

Billy looked at Steve like he was seeing him for the first time. A grin spread across his lips, quickly transforming his face into a shine of happiness, and he chuckled - almost to himself - and patted Steve’s shoulder, seeming almost relieved. “Shit, Harrington. If I’d had known...”

He didn’t finish it, seemed to catch himself. Steve looked for the underlying tone behind the words, wanted to pinpoint exactly what the look in Billy’s eyes was. What it _meant_.

“If you’d known…?” 

They were quiet. Billy’s eyes lingered intently on Steve’s lips. Steve felt a flash of longing rush through his chest, hope — the possibility of a dream fulfilled. He shifted closer, inch by inch, didn’t let his gaze stray from Billy’s face.

“I…”

They were so close now, Steve’s legs against Billy’s. The air was thick with _something_ , a desire they’d both kept close to themselves. Hidden. Steve felt that part of himself crack open — opening its arms to the possibility of having something that could _happen_. He’d never felt so alive.

Billy was still looking at his lips, his eyes a shade of blue so deep Steve was being lulled into the shore that was Billy’s heart. Smiling, Steve brought his hand up and cupped his chin. Ever so gently, he used his thumb to trace his bottom lip. Met his eyes.

“Thank you for telling me,” he said. “It means a lot, you know, and… I don’t want you to feel like that again, Billy. I don’t want you living with him, feeling like you’re not worth it. I… I’ll always be here. Whenever you need somewhere to stay, someone to talk to — I’ll always open my door for you. Billy- you don’t know how _much_ I-”

“Steve,” Billy closed his eyes, breathed in a gasp when Steve’s thumb traced his upper lip. “Shut up and kiss me.”

So Steve did just that.

Leaned forward and connected their lips in a kiss, so soft and _right_ and heartwarming, enough so that Steve’s heart was singing. He brought both hands up to cradle Billy’s face, gentle and careful of the bruises and cuts that still lingered, wanting to convey what he meant to Steve. He kissed Billy, pulling him closer. He felt Billy’s hand clutch at his shirt as he kissed back, with the same ferocity and passion that he held for anything in his life. Steve melted into him, kissed him until he couldn’t breathe, until all he could feel and taste and clutch at was Billy.

And it felt right.

Billy pulled away far too soon, breath quick and clouded, eyes dancing as they traced Steve’s face. He huffed a laugh, looked at Steve in awe, almost as though he hadn’t expected him to actually kiss him.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do that?” Billy voice was low, raspy and quiet. Steve felt like he was weightless in Billy’s arms, the fire crackling next to them. “To have you kiss me?”

Steve smiled and batted his eyelashes sweetly. “Ever since you first met me?”

Billy’s eyes were glazed over, face relaxing and spreading into a lazy grin. Inch by inch, he drew Steve closer. He felt his breath ghost across his lips.

Billy huffed against that small slip of space, parted his mouth and met Steve’s eyes. Only kissed him after he whispered, “Ever since I laid my eyes on you, pretty boy.”


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a long day.

It was afternoon, the sun still gleaming above the clouds — bright and not _nearly_ warm enough to defrost the Winter that continued to hover over Hawkins. Steve had spent most of his day outside; helping Mrs Byers with shovelling away snow and transporting the kids back and forth to the arcade — which had miraculously opened up amidst the snow.

It had been good, _nice_ even, to get a bite of that cold winter air in his face. Refreshing. Until of course he’d begun to sweat through his clothes from the amount of work he’d done on the Byers’ front lawn. Then it had just grown unpleasant.

It was when he’d finished, later in the afternoon, that he finally arrived home. Ready to shower and lie around and think about the night he’d spent kissing Billy. Like he’d done the whole week. He was almost embarrassed by how lovestruck he was — how he couldn’t help the flutter of sweet anticipation whenever Billy’s name was mentioned.

He arrived home with the hiss of his engine.

Snow still covered the Harrington driveway, disrupted now by tire tracks. He made his way inside, shucked off his shoes and threw his winter coat over the couch. It was the sound of a clatter, somewhere further in the house, that made him pause from taking off his second jumper. He heard it again, louder.

Slowly, he walked to where he’d pinpointed the noise. Made himself quiet in his steps, leaned against the wall and strained to listen for another sound. There was another small pang, followed by a muffled curse. Someone was in the kitchen.

Steve hit his head back against the wall, felt his heart lodge itself in his throat. He cursed himself — knew he should’ve checked the lock of the backdoor before he’d left. Who knew what the trespasser was even doing, what they were stealing.

Picking himself up with the little bravery he had, Steve grasped around for an object — something to at least act as a weapon. Wished for his bat to be with him rather than lying useless in the trunk of the Beemer. A moment of searching and his hand had clasped around the pole of an umbrella. He tried a test-swing with it then held it close to himself, satisfied.

Slowly, he edged around the wall, around the column separating the kitchen from the living room. His eyes darted for anything out of place, any new sights - a figure at least. Bags were littered over the counters, vegetables and packages strewn everywhere. A clang sounded from the stove, a hiss of steam. There was a heavy scent of garlic in the air.

Steve halted in his step. Baffled.

There, standing with his hair tied up and an apron slung around his waist, looking all too comfortable in the space of the Harrington kitchen, was _Billy_ , stirring away at something in a pan.

The umbrella dropped from Steve’s hands. Billy turned at the sound of it hitting the floor, looked expectant and smug, one hand on his hip and the other still holding the wooden spoon.

“Didn’t think you were gonna make it, pretty boy,” there was something about the way Billy was looking him up and down, tongue wagging and teeth flashing, that lit Steve alight. He didn’t know what to say — instead just stood there with his mouth open, gaping like a fish. Billy strolled over, grin proud, and kissed at the point where his neck met his jaw - so soft his lips were a whisper on his skin. He stayed there a beat, two, then moved back. He tugged at Steve’s hand, which had been limply hanging from where it had dropped the umbrella. “You hungry?”

His feet were moving, following after Billy. He stood, awed, eyes wide with wonder, and watched as Billy moved back and forth between chopping parsley and stirring away at his sauce. Something warm was expanding in his chest, watching Billy move.

He couldn’t help himself. Moving closer, he circled his arms around Billy’s waist, rested his head atop his shoulder, nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “Never thought I’d see you cooking in my kitchen.”

Billy paused, hand stilling, before he tossed in the remaining garlic he’d set aside. “The sight too good to be true?”

Steve chuckled into his skin, felt the goosebumps along Billy’s arms jump as he held him tighter, erasing whatever bit of space left between them. He swore Billy would be able to hear his heart, the way it was racing. He felt like he was trying his luck thin when he said,

“I could get used to it.” 

Billy let his head fall back onto Steve’s shoulder, a throaty laugh slipping past his lips. “Mm, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself there, Harrington. Gonna have to take me on a few more dates before we get to that point.”

Steve’s hands curled into the soft fabric of Billy’s shirt, buttoned down low, as though Billy hadn’t yet realised they were deep into Winter. He placed a lingering kiss on his shoulder, felt his stomach flutter at the sound of Billy’s breath hitching. Placed another kiss.

“You’d want to then?” Steve whispered. Billy turned to face him, eyebrows drawn. “Be with me?” 

Billy grinned. “Harrington, if I didn’t wanna be with you, I wouldn’t be here trying to impress you with some Italian dish.” Red tinged his cheeks, and he looked almost _shy_ as he held onto Steve’s hands. “Thought it was pretty obvious.”

It was as though a weight had lifted from his shoulders. Steve couldn’t help the wide smile that spread across his cheeks. He drew Billy into a sweet and long kiss, felt a bubble of laughter in his chest at the surprise squeak he made. Billy happily reciprocated the gesture though, brought his hands up to cradle Steve’s face and kissed him with a fierceness Steve could only admire.

He pulled back far too quick and leant his forehead against Steve’s. “You hungry?” His breath was warm against Steve’s lips. 

Steve laughed, pecked him once more, then drew away to breathe in the smell of garlic and tomato. “Starving.”

*

Billy had laughed when Steve had been surprised to find he wasn’t a half-bad cook. He’d been on a high ever since Steve had entered; floppy hair a mess of snow, nose pink and shock clear. Everything was great. The pasta was great, the sauce was great. _He_ was great.

Steve had complimented his cooking, had said it made him feel homely, cozy and warm. A sliver of pride had nestled itself into Billy’s chest, right under his heart, and hadn’t budged from its spot. He was suddenly thankful for all the times Neil had made him cook at home.

They sat on the back porch of the house, facing the backyard and the woods beyond it. The sun was setting, casting a golden hue across their faces. Billy never thought he’d seen Steve look more in his element — his breath clouding the air, a dusting of red on his cheeks, spooning the last scoop of ice cream out of his bowl.

It took Billy by surprise; the ease, the comfort. The weightless feeling he had whenever he was around Steve. It had crept up on him somehow, during the days they’d hung out together, the times they’d talked and shared stories and kissed.

Watching Steve now look over at him, eyes bright and honey-coloured and full of awe, the idea of ‘forever’, being like this for the rest of his life, being by _Steve’s_ side, felt inviting. Too good to be true and yet, it was there. Within his reach. A hopeful and happy future.

Maybe he’d been too deep in thought, gaze focused on the woods and the yellow of the leaves left from the sunlight, Steve leaning against him nearly making him jump. He laid his head on Billy’s shoulder, brown hair tickling his neck, ice cream bowl discarded to the side.

“What’re you doing?” Billy’s amusement tinged his words. Steve breathed in deep, nestled closer to him.

“You’re warm,” at Billy’s laugh, he pinched his side. Smiled despite himself. “I just wanna sleep now. That pasta took me out.”

Billy drew him close to his body, wrapping an arm around him and placing a kiss atop his head. “You’re gonna catch a cold if you sleep out here though.”

“Don’t care,” he burrowed his head into Billy’s chest, humming in content. “You’d have to put up with me either way. Sounds like a problem for _you_ , not me.”

Billy coughed to hide the smile spreading across his cheeks.

Maybe this was what home felt like. Where you felt calm, peaceful, like you belonged. Billy brushed a stray curl away from his face, looking down at Steve. Another burst of warmth enveloped his chest at the serene expression on his face. Long dark lashes caressed his cheeks. His hair flopped into his eyes. There was a mole just underneath Steve’s hairline, small and star-shaped. Billy felt something in him soften.

Maybe this was what love felt like.

He nudged Steve’s shoulder, receiving a disgruntled moan in return. He laughed at the slackened hands that swatted at him, gently taking ahold of them. “Come on, Stevie. Time to get up — I’m taking you to bed.”

That earned him a laugh. “At least take me to dinner first.”

Billy rolled his eyes, his cheeks heated nonetheless. He picked Steve up and held him close to him. “I’ve _made_ you dinner. We’ve already become sweethearts, _honey_.”

He smiled as Steve laughed, seeming to like the idea of how that sounded. He clung to Billy as he carried him up to his room. 

Billy himself was beginning to get a sense of deja vu; carrying Steve back up to the safety of his bed, a warm meal settled in their bellies. So much had happened since that night. The first time Billy had spent the night.

He nudged Steve’s bedroom door open with his leg and smiled at the familiarity. The room was the same, the lack of change in where things were placed making if feel welcoming. There was a warmth to it — one similar to that of the kitchen - like it was lived in. Cozy. _Homely_.

Still adorned with far too much plaid though.

“Harrington, I swear, if you and I ever move in together, _I’m_ in charge of interior design.” 

Steve huffed at that, mumbling something of an incoherent sentence. Billy’s grip on him loosened, and he set him down onto the bed, tucking him in and brushing the hair out of his face. Steve’s eyes peered open, watching closely as he did so.

“You’re not leaving, right?”

Billy sat back. It wasn’t really an invitation to _stay_ , per se — it wasn’t like Steve was explicitly saying it - that Billy should lie next to him and hold him close. But maybe it was. Billy shucked off his shirt, making an effort not to look at Steve whilst he did so. He smiled to himself at the sound of a squeak. He tossed the clothing aside and climbed into bed beside Steve, huddling close to his body.

Steve was quick to bring his arms around Billy, latching onto him. His arms were strong, skin colder than Billy’s. It was nice, made it feel all the more intimate. Billy moved his head so it laid more comfortably on the pillow, couldn’t keep his smile off his face as Steve peered up at him through messed brown hair.

“Billy,” he whispered, half-lidded eyes tracing Billy’s face before they came to focus on his lips. Billy’s heart fluttered.

“Pretty boy?”

Steve looked back up to him. He wore a lazy smile. “I like it when you call me that.”

Billy huffed. He drew Steve close to him, arms tight and protective around his body. Steve made a noise of content and Billy assumed the position didn’t bother him at all.

“I won’t stop,” he mumbled into his hair. “Since you’ve said it, it’ll be the only thing I’ll call you.”

Steve scoffed a laugh, drawing back only an inch. “Only that?”

Billy brought his hand up, lingered a touch on Steve’s bottom lip. His eyes flicked up from his hand. Steve’s breath stuttered. “Maybe sweetheart too; honey; baby. I don’t know, what turns you on most?”

Amusement and adoration shone in Steve’s dark eyes, reflecting that which Billy felt. He could stay here his whole life, cocooned in his feelings, feeling warm and happy. As Steve moved closer, something in his face opened; what looked like hope and faith, for a future for them both. It glittered right in front of Billy.

“Billy?” Steve’s voice was a whisper.

He was too lost in memorising that look. “Hmm?”

Dark eyes full of wonder and wisdom, honed from someone who’d endured many trials, stared back at him. “Don’t ever leave my side,” air clung around them, thick with honey and anticipation. “I want you to be with me always from now on.”

Billy, speechless and unaccustomed to ever having felt this level of value, drew in a breath. “I’ll be here with you.” He brushed the hair out of Steve’s face. “Every day you want me, Stevie, I’ll be here.”

Steve smiled, and Billy knew at that point he wouldn’t ever able to leave him, even if he wanted to. Steve, here with him, ready to trust him with his heart, had cracked through to Billy. And maybe that was what he’d needed most of all.

Someone to love and trust.

He smiled back.

Steve poked his nose teasingly. “Now, kiss me.”

With a laugh, Billy gladly did so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Corvin for the prompt!! This was a treasure to write and I hope you enjoyed reading it.


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